“Never mind. The whole world doesn't need to know you've fallen in love with an old man.”
“I'll be sure not to tell them your age.”
“Thanks.” But as usual, he was very stubborn. There were no ties, no promises, no future held out to her. There was only now, and the infinite exquisite beauty and pain of the moment. They kissed constantly whenever they were alone, and they were hard-pressed not to go any further. But the last thing he wanted to do now was leave her pregnant.
The day before he had to leave, he brought up the subject of the war. He said conditions in England were good, and so far he hadn't flown a single mission.
“They'll probably never put me out there at my age, and you'll get me back like a bad penny at the end of the war. And then you'll be sorry, my friend,” he warned her. But that was all she wanted.
“And then what?” She tried to pin him down, but he wouldn't let her.
“Then I talk you into marrying Billy, which you should be doing yourself, not an old goat like me.” At thirty-eight, he was hardly an old goat, but no matter what she felt, he was still convinced he was too old for Cassie. She wondered sometimes if he hadn't seen her in diapers if he might have felt different.
“I don't happen to love Billy, if you care,” she explained with a grin, as they walked by the lake.
“That's absolutely immaterial. You'll have to marry him anyway.”
“Thank you.”
“Don't mention it.”
“Should we warn him?” Cassie loved being with him, he always made her laugh, even when he made her cry, which he had done a lot lately.
“Eventually. Might as well let the boy relax for a while. Besides he might bolt if he knew.”
“How flattering!” She gave him a shove and he almost tripped on the ice. He gave her a push then too, and a few minutes later they were rolling in the snow again and kissing.
They were perfect days, and over too soon, almost as soon as they had begun. She flew him to Chicago, and he took the train to New York, and from there he would return to England.
“Will you be able to come back again soon?” she asked as they stood waiting for the train in Union Station.
“I don't know. That was kind of a fluke. I'll have to see what happens once I'm back at Hornchurch.” She nodded. She understood that.
There were no promises again, only tears, and the aching feeling of knowing that he might not come back and this could be the last time she ever saw him. He kissed her one last time before he left, and she ran beside the train for as long as she could, and then he was gone, and she stood alone in the station.
It was a lonely flight back to Good Hope, and the next day she flew back to LA, and her apartment. She was desperately lonely for him this time, and tired of the ache of worry and not knowing if he was all right, if he'd be back, and if they'd ever find a way to be together. She wondered if he'd ever get over the objections to the difference in their ages, it was so hard to know what would happen.
In January, she flew to New York with Desmond and his new plane to demonstrate it for Charles Lindbergh. There were lots of photographs and newsreels too. And after that, it was a long, lonely spring for her, despite the long flights, the constant tests, the checking and rechecking of new equipment. She was racking up quite a reputation, for her skill and passion for flying. And she had begun meeting some of the women she had only read about for years, like Pancho Barnes and Bobbi Trout. They gave her whole life new dimension. She spent time with Nancy and Jane Firestone too. It was fun being with them, although she realized eventually that she never became as close friends with Nancy as she had hoped to. Maybe there was just too much difference in their ages.
She had dinner again with Desmond one night in April, and he surprised her by asking if she was involved with anyone. Given the businesslike relationship they shared, it struck her as an odd question, but she told him that she wasn't, and Nancy was still lining up her “escorts.”
“I'm surprised,” he said pleasantly.
“Just too ugly I guess,” Cassie smiled at him, and he couldn't help laughing as she joked. And in truth, she looked more spectacular than ever. If anything, she had gotten more beautiful, and Desmond had never been as pleased with any of his plans or projects.
“Maybe you work too hard,” he said thoughtfully, looking her straight in the eye. “Or is there someone at home?”
“Not anymore,” she smiled sadly. “He's in England. And he's not mine,” she added quietly. “He's his own. Very much so.”
